Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Love
by Ziegod Lizski
Summary: Unlucky in love, George obtains an enchanted diary to help him. It is bewitched with a soul far more annoying than Voldemort's, though: Gilderoy Lockhart's.
1. Kinky

Gilderoy's Lockhart's Guide to Love: Prologue  
  
  
Why don't you just curl up some place and die?  
  
Her words echoed in George's mind.   
  
_Why do I have such bad luck with the ladies?_, George mused, _What did I do to the big man upstairs to deserve this? I do decently in school, well, decently considering the effort I put in. I am kind to my siblings. Except Percy, but he asks for it, anyway. I'm very respectful to my Mum. Or at least I try to be respectful. All right--I try to try to be respectful.  
  
_Sighing, the redheaded renegade backed onto his bed, sitting squarely on top of a brown-papered parcel. With tremulous fingers, he opened it.  
  
Dear George--Hope this helps with your girl troubles. I enjoyed hearing from you, Bill.  
  
Underneath the card sat a book with a worn, leather cover with the word embossed in gold across it.  
  
Maybe he's got me confused with Ginny, he thought as he flipped through the diary's blank pages. Reluctantly, he pulled a pen out of his pocket and began to write.  
  
_Hello.  
  
_To his surprise, magical script appeared on the page in reply!  
  
**Hello. Who are you?  
  
**_I'm George Weasley...Who are you?  
  
_**Oh my! Please excuse my poor manners. I am Gilderoy Lockhart.  
  
**Bloody hell, George mumbled under his breath, curiosity getting the best of him.  
  
_Pardon my asking, but what are you doing in a diary?  
  
_**I preserved myself in it, so that all of prosperity could benefit from my vast and excellent knowledge.  
  
**George chuckled to himself, knowing full well the extent of Lockhart's vast and excellent knowledge.  
  
_My brother Bill gave me this thing. He said that you might be able to help me with my, er, love problems.  
  
_**Ooh! How positively juicy! Do go on, laddy!  
  
**_Well you see, there's this girl...  
  
_George's head swam just thinking about it. She sat in the common room, absorbed in some book, her wild brown hair creating a canopy around her. To George, she was like an Aphrodite with a mousy-haired afro. Lovely and chaotic all at once. But he stood no chance with her; she'd made that clear. He shrugged. Yes, he'd always had bad luck with women. After all, public opinion favored Fred. Fred was known as the cuter twin, the hot one.   
George thought, recalling this. Don't they realize we're _identical_?  
  
_Yeah, this girl...Her name's Hermione, and she hates me with the burning passion of ten thousand suns.  
  
_**Kinky.  
  
  
***  
  
**Okay, this is it for the prologue. I know it's short, but I'm having a bit of difficulty writing it, for some reason. So any input would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	2. Big Pimpin'

Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Love: Chapter Two  
  
  
***  
  
**So Laddy, what exactly did you do to this fair maiden to make her despise you so?**  
  
_Well, I told her that she's hot. And she told me to go curl up someplace and die._  
  
  
George really should have known better, of course. No one--no one--calls Hermione Granger hot. Because since that summer, not only had she been ranting about those infernal house-elves but also about what she called the dehumanization of women in a society primarily governed by the antediluvian precepts of male chauvinist pigs. She had even gotten Molly Weasley in on it. The whole time Hermione stayed at the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley refused to cook anything, encouraged by Hermione's feminist pabulum-puking. Weasley boys need food. Out of sheer desperation, they forced Percy (the most girly of the bunch) to do the job, under the condition that he be able to discuss cauldron bottoms without interruption. When Fred joked that the only bottom he wanted to discuss belonged to Angelina, the shit really hit the fan. Yes, George mused, I fancy a feminazi.   
It wasn't that she was of any particular beauty (she was cute, he admitted, but she was no veela). Nor did he want her because of Ron's failed romance with her. George rarely got sucked into the vortex of Weasley boy rivalry. Truth be told, if he had any say in the matter, he would have fallen for someone other than a stuborn-headed swot. He knew well that she didn't hold any esteem for his...extracurricular activities. Mental, that one.   
  
  
**You told her you thought her attractive? Most intriguing...**  
  
_What's wrong with saying that she's hot?_  
  
**Women are of a peculiar breed. Try calling her ugly.  
  
***  
  
**She sat right where he was expecting her to sit, her body wrapped around a book larger than her head as though to protect it.  
  
Er, Hermione, he said tentatively, I'm sorry for what I said earlier...What I really meant to say was, er, I don't think you're hot. I think you're really hideous. Disgusting. You make me want to vomit slugs every time I look at you.  
  
Whoever said that girls couldn't throw had obviously never met Hermione Granger. The book she had been reading sped through the air like a shot-put and hit George's head with the force of one of Hannibal's elephants.  
  
***  
  
_Okay, so I took your advice, and that vixen is _definitely_ not playing hard-to-get. Now I know how Harry Potter feels, with those immortal, psychosomatic, evil wizards out to kill him all the time. Okay, so Hermione really isn't as bad as Voldemort, but she does have a surprisingly strong arm--she'd make a fair beater, actually...But I digress. Now what should I do?  
  
_**Hmmm...Tell me George, what is the state of your clothing? Perhaps a change of wardrobe is due.  
  
**_What do you mean?  
  
_**Women love purple. Yes, I recommend a purple velour suit, preferably with a cravat--women love cravats.  
  
*****  
  
Reluctantly, George had decided to dip into the Tri Wizard money to pay for his new studly ensemble. He examined himself in the dormitory mirror, smiling faintly. He thought he looked rather nice; it was certainly a far cry from his usual worn t-shirt and jeans. But what George, being George, didn't realize is that purple directly clashed with his vermillion hair and freckles, making him look a bit like an oompa-loompa. In a calculated movement, he gingerly placed his new hat on top of his head. It looked a bit like a purple fedora, with a long plummy plume sticking out of it to match.  
  
  
Well Georgey Boy, he thought to himself, This is as good as it's going to get.  
  
He was a realist--he knew well that with his stocky build and slightly wide nose, he wasn't exactly Hogwart's resident hottie. He lacked the animal magnetism of the other Weasley boys (Hell, even _Percy_ had a girlfriend), and he didn't know what drew girls to his twin, yet Fred never failed to captivate a woman. George, however, was the quieter twin, blushing furiously and stammering whenever around a member of the opposite sex.   
  
Sighing, his ears beginning to pinken, he crept down the staircase and down into the common room.**  
  
**Er, George? Hermione asked, bemused, Why are you dressed like a pimp?**  
  
  
***  
  
**Yay! Chapter 2!!! Whee! I'm kind of sleep deprived right now, which actually explains a LOT about this chapter! (1.5 hours of sleep + 5 cups of coffee = one very interesting plot-line)  
  
Lots of lurve to everyone who reviewed! I was surprised to see so many people liked it! Yay! I welcome any feedback! I really love exclamation points!!! Yes, I love them almost as much as I love our friend, the semicolon; semicolons make me happy!!!


	3. Dobby

Hermione was a sensible girl. Although many saw her as peculiar, some even going so far as to call her obsessive-compulsive, she always prided herself on her infinite pragmatism. But she knew that her personality was far more complicated than that. She was not some unfeeling, passionless homework machine. And she really did care that people saw her that way, although the perpetually thickheaded Ron still didn't understand why she'd blown up at him when he had called her a femme-bot. He just assumed that it was for the same reason that one week out of the month she would buy out half of he chocolate frogs in Honey Dukes. Ron kept a stash underneath his bed, just in case Hermione's bingeing week didn't happen to fall on a Hogsmeade weekend -- the woman could be deadly when kept away from her chocolate.  
  
But there was George, standing in front of her in a pimp costume, a dopey, pathetic expression on his freckled face. Was he wearing -- good Lord -- a purple velour suit?   
  
she asked, bemused, Why are you dressed like a pimp?  
  
Well, he _did_ look like a pimp.  
  
Uh, you know... _Come on, think of an excuse. You're a Weasley twin for Jude's sake...But she's so pretty--look at the way her hair cascades down her back, like rivers freshly broken from winter's spell...Oh, Shove it. _Well, you see, I'm going on a date tonight. _That's right, make her jealous!  
  
_With whom?  
  
With, er, Mary. Mary Sue.  
  
Oh, I've never heard of her before. What house is she in?  
  
Well, she's a sixth year...Hufflepuff.  
  
Ah. You'd better watch out, then. You can't really trust a Hufflepuff girl -- They're notorious heartbreakers. She returned to her book.  
  
Er, cheers...I'd better get going then. Big date, you know.  
  
She nodded, not looking up from _Hogwarts: A History. _George wondered how he could possibly fancy a girl who had the attention span to read the same book 42 times and yet could still not remember what a Wronski (or Wonky, in her case) Feint was.  
  
_Nutters, that one.  
  
_Standing just outside the common room, his hands still trembling from speaking to Hermione, a fine layer of anxiety-caused perspiration laced across his forehead, vaguely thirsty, George's heart sank. He had left the enchanted diary in his dormitory, and he couldn't very well go back up to Gryffindor Tower like the pathetic little boy that he was to go get it. He'd lose face in front of Hermione!   
  
Involuntarily, his legs led him down the dank corridor, and his finger stretched out to tickle the pear in the painting that guarded the way to the kitchens; for a Weasley boy, this action was as natural as breathing. Reportedly, Charlie had once eaten 133 kippers, which had to have been some sort of world kipper-eating record.  
  
Nothing could have comforted George more in his moment of romantic desperation than the high, pot-covered ceilings of the Hogwarts kitchen. The aroma of that night's dinner --roast beef with red potatoes-- still hung in the air, instantly reminding him of a frazzled Molly Weasley, stirring several pots at once in the hot, cramped Burrow kitchen.  
  
The reaction to George's presence in the room varied greatly -- some, in anticipation of his voracious appetite, hurriedly began preparing all sorts of treats for him. The elves who had heard of his notorious escapades backed away slowly, for they didn't want to become the next Weasley Wizard Wheezes test-tasters. And still others chose merely to stare at him, trying to figure out which Weasley boy he was.  
  
Is Wheezy come to see Dobby, sir? a flamboyantly dressed elf with an unusually long nose squeaked.  
  
Er, yeah. George sighed, creaking into a tiny chair. It had been a long day. Listen, do you think you could get me some warm milk?  
  
Dobby waived his spindly little hand at one of the other elves, who quickly skipped off to fulfill George's request. What is matter with Wheezy?  
  
Well, you see, Dobby -- He stopped. It felt funny, really, spilling the intricacies of his pitiful love life to a creature who looked as though a weaving loom had spontaneously   
combusted on top of him. There's this girl, and I, you know, have feelings for her.  
  
Is Wheezy sad, sir? I'm sure Winky would let you have some of her, he lowered his voice considerably here, Happy Pills.  
  
Winky, of course, had been on an extreme regimen of highly potent antidepressants since Barty Crouch, Jr. was discovered impersonating Mad Eye Moody. She was even required to see McGonnagall for counseling sessions every Tuesday, although George didn't see how talking to that devil bitch could help anyone's mental stability. No wonder the fragile thing was sitting in a corner trembling, her tomato nose running unchecked.  
  
Erm, no thanks, he said. He certainly didn't want to turn into Winky.  
  
Where is she now?  
  
  
  
Wheezy's girl.  
  
Oh, that is very hard to say, Dobby. She could be any number of places -- asking her professors for extra homework, writing a hard-hitting biography of Gilderoy Lockhart, or single-handedly undoing the socioeconomic principles of Wizarding England.  
  
She is very busy, then?  
  
George chuckled. Yeah, you could say that. She probably wouldn't have time for me even if she did want me. But as it stands--  
  
Maybe Wheezy should helps her.  
  
  
  
Well, if Wheezy helps her, Wheezy spends time with her, and she can get feelings for Wheezy, too.  
  
Considering that he had been accepting advice from an incorporeal dunderhead for a week, this seemed like a fairly sound plan to follow. Perhaps if Hermione saw that he was a compassionate --and well-dressed-- activist, she would return his...ardor.  
  
The phrase speak of the devil had always confused George, and he never knew the proper moment to use it. However, he learned the true meaning of the expression right then, as none other than Hermione honestly, it's for your own good Granger walked through the kitchen doorway.  
  
Hullo, Hermione, George chirped, I've come to help out with spew.  
  
***  
Sorry for the un-anticipated delay posting this. I've been working on it in chunks since I posted chapter 2, and it just came together last night. I've got bigger plans for George than he knows. Also, I would just like to thank everyone who posted those nice reviews -- seeing those semi-colon-laden messages really cheered me up a lot (I've had a rough month). Yay!!!


	4. The George Weasley Mistique

Hullo Hermione, George chirped, I've come to help out with spew.  
  
She sighed, running a hand through her voluminous hair. You have _got _to be kidding me.  
  
What's there to kid about? I happen to be very passionate about the rights of House Elves.  
  
Right, and is this the universe where Ron and Malfoy take ballet lessons together?  
  
Actually, Ronniekins used to be quite fond of the ballet. George grinned.  
  
She grimaced.   
  
But really, Hermione, I'm super-serious about this thing. Dobby can give you my   
credentials.  
  
At this, Dobby perked up, puffing his chest out self-importantly. He spoke eagerly, Oh yes, Miss Hermaphrodite --  
  
It's Hermione, Dobby. Her-my-oh-nee.  
  
George looked as though he were going to explode with restrained laughter. He was doubled over, hands on his knees, his face a bright shade of magenta.  
  
Honestly, George, I don't see what you find so funny.  
  
This only further upset George's giggling fit.  
  
Please, Miss Herman -- Please don't gets mad at Weezey. He cares for House Elves like Dobby, Miss. Really, he does.  
  
she said, giving George a once-over, I suppose I could use some help with the letter campaign.  
  
***  
  
Though it was a Friday night, she set him to work immediately, too wrapped up in her cause to ask him about the mystery date who had vanished into thin air. They sat across from each other in the library, a location totally foreign to George, each absorbed by their tasks. George was using a magiked pen to copy letters to send to politicians in the ministry, requesting that they do all in their power to bring an end to this barbaric slavery. Hermione was poring over a large book of wizarding laws, searching for a law that she could twist into declaring house elf slavery as a violation of human rights.   
  
She let out an exasperated sigh, sinking down in her chair. The action had caused Hermione's legs to stick out more than they normally would, and her knees brushed against George's. He moved his legs away quickly, muttering and trying to ignore the peculiar tickle he still felt on his freckled skin.  
  
He wondered why she even bothered, why she did this to herself. It was a lost cause, everyone knew that. Hell, the creatures she was trying to free _enjoyed_ their enslavement. And if the house elves were to demand wages or go on strike, who'd make the food? Damned if he'd let ol' Albus hire someone like Percy do the cooking. He shuddered, thinking of the weeks of crunchy macaroni and cheese he was forced to endure over the summer.  
  
And yet -- and yet, there was something incredibly endearing about her quest to liberate a group of people (were they people?) that no one else cared for or saw. It was perhaps the same dogged determination of hers that scared people that he most admired about her. Yes, he mused, there is something incredibly sexy about an empowered woman.  
  
Despite his many efforts, though, she still regarded him with nothing more than vague indifference, which frustrated him to no end. How could this woman resist his Weasley charm?  
  
She yawned, looking at her watch.  
  
Wow, it's later than I thought it was, she said, You can go, if you like, George.  
  
Aren't you coming to bed, too?  
  
No...I've still got loads of work to do.  
  
I'll stay till you're finished, then. He offered up a cheeky grin, well aware that his very presence vexed her to no end.  
  
She shut her book, leaving a quill in the center as a bookmark. Looks like I'm done.  
  
She stood, pushed in her chair, and motioned for George to leave his things where they were.   
  
We'll be back right after breakfast tomorrow. No sense in lugging them all the way back.  
  
George nodded, trying not to look disappointed that she was going to spoil his Saturday morning.  
  
The walk back to Gryffindor Tower seemed longer somehow, the corridor dimly lit, the only noise the clip-clop of their feet on stone. For someone with so much to say, Hermione seemed very quiet -- the night had a way of silencing things, George supposed.  
  
***  
  
Well, George had sank to the lowest level of romance advisor short of Sevie Snape that he could think of: his younger sister Ginny. The girl had written the most atrocious love poem imaginable; perhaps, thought George, he wasn't quite the most lovelorn member of the Weasley family.  
  
I don't understand it, Gin, he said, popping pumpkin seeds in his mouth, I've been taking an active interest in the plight of the house elf, and what has she given me in return? Nothing.  
  
I think you're missing the point here. She glanced up briefly from her Transfiguration book. I mean, as far as guys go, you're really sort of a pig. Hermione's a smart girl, George. She wouldn't want you.  
  
What do you mean I'm a pig? I happen to be a very sensitive kind of bloke. Why, just yesterday I helped Lavender out with a major decision. I told her that she should really wear a push-up bra with that rack of--  
  
Ginny interrupted disgustedly, handing him a book.  
  
_The Feminine Mystique_? What is this, some sort of feminazi propaganda novel?  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. I prefer the term womanist. And, like Gloria Steinem said, a woman can be one of two things: a feminist or a masochist.  
  
George's eyes glazed over, his mind swimming in images of gorgeous women in black leather bondage gear. He wondered if there'd be naughty pictures like that in Ginny's book.  
  
Somehow, he managed to compose himself. Why should I be taking advice from you, anyway? You're the one who told Harry the Hotter that his eyes were as green as a fresh pickled toad.'  
  
Please, George. I was eleven years old! I'm totally over that. I mean, the guy rides with a broomstick between his legs and killed a giant snake with an oversized sword, for Merlin's sake. He's obviously compensating for something.  
  
It wasn't quite the statement itself but the nonchalance with which Ginny delivered it that disturbed George. He would never have expected his little sister to casually analyze phallic symbols. It was probably that ruddy feminazi --womanist-- brainwashing that Hermione had done. He didn't know who this Gloria Steinem woman was exactly, but she was probably the leader of this crazy cult. He resolved to get to the bottom of this thing.  
  
***  
  
Special thanks to everyone who reviewed! It really meant a lot to me! Also, thanks to Jana B, who previewed the chapter for me and let me know that it doesn't suck.  
  
Yunami the Dragon - I looked it up to make sure I wasn't crazy, and vermillion still means red.   
  
Dark Devil - i ThInK pIxi sTicKs aRe nIce tOo.  
  
Lil Green Alien - Although George resembles most guys I've known, he is based on my older brother! He thinks that Britney Spears is part of the feminist movement...  
  
deedles - This is kind of random, but we all call my little sister Deedle.  
  
Everyone else who reviewed - I love and worship you all!!!


	5. I 3 George

Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Love  
Chapter 5  
  
  
How George ended up in McGonagall's office he wasn't quite sure. He could only attribute his presence there to a momentary lapse of sanity on his quest to understand the feminist movement.  
  
You see, Mr. Weasley, there is an undeserved stigma attached to feminism because of the male ego's propensity to --  
  
I'm sorry, but can you speak in English please?  
  
She smiled a smile reminiscent of the one Hermione used when dealing with slow-minded people. Weasley, did you know that in the muggle world, women are paid 3/4 of what men are?  
  
  
  
Wizards are not exempt from such close-mindedness, either. In fact, the situation of women is much worse here. In the ministry, women earn 60% of what men do, if they can even get hired.  
  
Why doesn't anybody do anything to change it?  
  
The few women who try are labeled feminazis. Mostly everyone just gives up. Why, I had to fight the board to be paid as much as the other heads of houses.  
  
Well bugger me silly, George thought, Hermione's right.  
  
As a young man, you have great potential to help the cause.  
  
But I'm not serious or clever. I can't argue like Hermione can.  
  
As much as it pains me to admit this, Weasley, you _are _clever. Those products of yours may be dreadfully annoying, but they are ingenious -- you use charms so complicated that even advanced wizards can't perform. We can't affect change with serious demeanor alone. Many great leaders of the past have found that humor is often the best way to influence people.  
  
You mean I can help Hermione by --  
  
Doing what you do best, yes.  
  
I may never say this again, M, but thanks.  
You're welcome...G.  
  
With a mischievous grin on his freckled face, George darted out of McGonagall's office and ran towards the kitchens.  
  
***  
  
What Hermione found in the kitchens when she came to deliver her carefully crafted SPEW pamphlets shocked and awed her.  
  
George stood on one of the tables, and all the elves surrounded him, laughing hysterically. Of course, having never heard elfish laughter before, Hermione thought that it was perhaps some sort of fire alarm or a multitude of shrieking baby banshees. Every bulbous eye in the room stared intently at George. He was grumbling, raving about hair grease, and pretending to take points away from Gryffindor.  
  
Suddenly, one of the creatures broke away and began beating herself with a frying pan.  
  
she squealed, We should nots be laughing at Master Snape!  
  
Everybody makes fun of Snape!, George bellowed, stopping his impersonation, In fact, it is your right as living beings to make fun of Snape! He's no better than you are! In fact, he really sucks.  
  
Something, for lack of a better word, magical took hold of the pint-sized crowd then, and a high pitched chorus quickly began to chant, Snape sucks! Snape sucks!  
  
Meanwhile, Hermione pulled herself up onto the table.  
  
Just what do you think you're doing, George? she huffed, hands on her hips.  
  
I'm doing what you couldn't do -- I'm instilling rebellion in the House Elves! You see, by making fun of Snape, I'm showing them that they are equal to humans.   
  
Hermione bit her lip, taking this all in. George Weasley...George Weasley, who thought that feminism was some kind of kinky sex, was inciting a House Elf rebellion.  
  
He was captivating, though, the way his eyes sparkled as he watched the House Elves giggle at his jokes, the way his whole body shook when he laughed. She couldn't stop staring. Oh, _God, _she couldn't stop staring! He was, she decided, even more eye-catching than Tony Blair, whom she had previously considered to be her soul mate (although the dashing politician was not aware of this).  
  
***  
  
George eyed the strange contents of Professor Dumbledore's office with the casual air of one accustomed to birds that catch on fire and talking hats. He had been called to the headmaster's office so many times that he considered it a second home. His nonchalance, though, belied the nervousness that he felt. He had the feeling that this time, he was in serious trouble. Something told him that attempting to change the Wizarding Social Order was much worse than setting off dung bombs in the girls' loo.  
  
He had been expecting Hermione to freak out a lot more than she was. In fact, Hermione wasn't freaking out at all. George had always assumed that should his favorite obsessive-compulsive pal be sent to Dumbledore's office, she would spontaneously combust. Instead, she wore a stony look of confidence on her face.  
  
This is an outrage! she cried out as Dumbledore entered the room, You can't punish us for trying to undo a great injustice! The House Elves are--  
  
I assure you, Miss Granger, he interrupted, That I have no intention of punishing you.  
  
George and Hermione asked in unison.  
  
The fact is that you have done us a great service.  
  
Well, of course we did, George beamed.  
  
You see, the House Elves possess a very powerful magic. I'm sure you've seen, Mrs. Granger, that they can Apparate on Hogwarts grounds.  
  
Hermione's eyes widened.   
  
But in _Hogwarts: A History _on page --  
  
That's right. Their magic is powerful enough to override the Apparition wards. Imagine how much we could accomplish with them on our side!  
  
But if you wanted to free them, why haven't you until now? Hermione asked.  
  
That would be chaos. Remember how ashamed Winky was when she was freed from her master? The House Elves have been brainwashed into believing that their only purpose is to serve wizards for so long that they wouldn't know if they were freed quickly. Your method, Mr. Weasley, is much more effective.  
  
George and Hermione turned to each other and smiled.  
  
***  
  
You were -- you were really great, George, Hermione said softly as she and George walked toward Gryffindor Tower.  
  
Thanks...I couldn't have done it without you, though. I mean, all this time I saw the world one way and then you -- you showed me how to look at things differently.  
  
He smiled sheepishly down at her.  
  
George, what happened to your teeth? I only just noticed now...They aren't...glowing are they?  
  
He cringed. Lockhart had told him a charm to brighten his smile, and his teeth had ended up platinum. They still hadn't gone back to normal yet.  
  
I have no idea what you're talking about. He smiled again, this time with his mouth   
closed. Do you think -- do you think it would be all right if -- if I kissed you?  
  
Hermione looked nervously around the hallway, blushing.  
  
  
  
George leaned down, softly placing his lips over Hermione's. Suddenly, though, someone called out, Just like a Weasley to go kissing a feminazi.  
  
George turned, his gaze meeting with Draco Malfoy's.  
  
It's womanist, he bellowed, Now get it right or I'll make you feel a pain worse than childbirth.  
  
And, with that, he went back to snogging Hermione.  
  
The End  
  
***  
  
  
  
Thanks to all my reviewers -- I'm sorry this took so long to post. I've just been reaaaaally busy lately, and I had to choose song-writing over fanfiction writing. To see -- or, rather, hear -- what I've been working on, go here (I hope angelfire isn't being bitchy with my bandwidth):   
  
I kinda want to write an epilogue to this (I've still got ideas stewing around in my head, like Gildy accompanying George and Mione on their first date), so if any of you want me to write one, speak up!


End file.
